TO Tripping

Once Upon a Time - so all great stories begin and so this tale begins... once upon a time - there was a father and a mother who were sadly in lack of something fun and educational to do upon a saturday morn. This was indeed a sad and desparate situation. However, to their great benefit, they possessed something which could remedy this dilemma without a doubt. They had an old daughter who dearly loved to create and be part of adventures. And she did not fail them now - she thought (for just a few minutes - her thought processes wheeled and whirred effortlessly) that she would take them to the capital city of their province. This was indeed an epic journey but one devoutly to be wished (a misquote of sorts from some sort of Shakespearean play somewhere along the line - my abject apologies to the bard himself). The mother in a wheelbarrow

So of an early hour of the morn, the trio betook themselves in the vehicular transportation of the day, Prunelope, along the highways and byways until they found themselves in the heart of the bustling metropolis. The sights and smells and sounds overwhelmed the simple country folk and they spent the first while just taking everything in whilst searching desparately for a place to situate their vehicle - a truly daunting quest to be sure! At last having secured a safe place for dearest Prunelope, the family betook themselves to the centre for cultural enrichment - the Art Gallery of Ontario (henceforth referred to as the AGO - a moniker which amuses the scribe of this tale to no end!). They were in the mood to see some artistic endeavours and analyze them and determine whether they were truly worthy of being placed in such an establishment. However, to their regret and chagrin, the AGO was under an intense period of reconstruction leaving the poor travellers with only a handful, a smattering of art pieces to be regarded. This truly was a grievous situation.

Nevertheless, our heroes entered the gallery and spent time perusing the sculptural efforts of Henry Moore and the limited supply of master works by painters old and new. The father stood in front of a certain painting examining it carefully and the daughter said to him "father, that's a Monet!". To which the father replied "oh really, it's good old Claude, eh? I think he's been framed." This remark produced groans of anguish, but also conveyed a rather indepth knowledge of the artist unbeknownst previously to the mother or the daughter and filling them with happiness that their paternal figure indeed was acquainted with the finer nuances of the art world. The mother happily spent her time comparing herself in proportions to the Rodin sculpture of Adam and was quite taken with the large size of the sculptures hands and feet, guessing them to be approximately a size "24" men's shoes. It was determined that Adam would indeed have great difficulty acquiring footwear.

The father and mother and daughter then proceeded to view the works of Emily Carr - a Canadian artist who worked largely amongst the native populations in British Columbia. She loved trees and forests and most likely was single-handedly responsible for the severe shortage of green paint in the area during her lifetime! The father, whilst in the midst(ooh, two "st" words in one sentence!) of a deep discussion as to the nature of a figure in one of the paintings had to be admonished by the security guard for gesticulating too wildly near the canvas itself and causing the silent alarms to be activated. Tsk tsk. Avoiding further encounters with the third kind, the family group finished perusing the exhibition and then proceeded to wander the city streets in an aimless sort of fashion attempting to blend in to the local culture and absorb the atmosphere of the city. They wandered here and there, creating weariness of foot and fullness of mind in such places as a costume shop (i so would love to have a costume party someday!), a glass exhibition with extremely intriguing glass pictures, Chinatown (where our heroes became dazzled by the countless bins of unidentifiable foreign dried foods - the daughter at one point scared that the bin contained dried baby birds due to a rather putrid smell but later determining that it was simply dried oysters. One can never be too careful!!) and Kensington Market.

The crepey man!

They partook of delightful culinary treasures such as a pesto sandwich topped with brie cheese, grilled chicken breast and tomatoes which was then lightly grilled to perfection, and a freshly made crepe with egg and ham. The crepe maker had a lovely little conversation with the mother about the finer points of creating perfect pancakes and the mother invited the chef over to her abode to make dinner one evening much to his delight! The family eventually came to the realization that their feet were dreadfully tired and were screaming for repose. So the long trek was made back to Prunelope who bore them safely home to their small town where they partook of a delectible dinner at a local chicken establishment (i mean that the establishment served chickens, not that chickens ran the place!) The father was unable to refrain from blowing his straw wrapper onto the lady behind the daughter much to her embarassment, leading to his ban from the restaurant swiftly and with all haste! The family at last reposed in their abode, having had their fill of intellectual, cultural and urban life for another year, or at least until the next time they were bored! And they lived happily ever after. The End.